


Lead Me Here to You

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: Coldwave Week 2016 [6]
Category: Legends of Tomorrow, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coldwave Week 2016, Day Six - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmarks, Soulmates AU, slight AU, soulbonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. Maybe we’re from the same star.”― Emery Allen</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Len thinks it’s a little ridiculous. He doesn’t understand all the fanfare surrounding the words scrawled on his arm. <i>Everyone</i> has some set of words burned into their skin by the hands of fate. It isn’t as though he’s special for what’s written on his arm, even if most people raise an eye at the particular phrase. </p>
<p>
  <i>What the fuck do you want?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead Me Here to You

**Author's Note:**

> day six, soulmates! this turned out pretty much exactly as i wanted it to, which is always a nice feeling.
> 
> please note that this fic disregards the canon of how mick and len met (in juvie) and instead they meet when len (a criminal kingpin) seeks out mick for a job. and they're soulmates!
> 
> thanks to elrhiarhoden for betaing, and i hope you guys all like it!

Len thinks it’s a little ridiculous. He doesn’t understand all the fanfare surrounding the words scrawled on his arm. _Everyone_ has some set of words burned into their skin by the hands of fate. It isn’t as though he’s special for what’s written on his arm, even if most people raise an eye at the phrase.

_What the fuck do you want?_

Len sighs. It’s far from classy and doesn’t add anything to his overall criminal image—he’s aiming for a more refined look, not a carefree badass or some such nonsense. The scrawl that’s adorned his arm since he was twelve is bright fire engine red and jaunty. The handwriting is jagged, careless, sharp. Sometimes it glows with a faint golden hue, and any time that happen Len figures his soulmate—whoever that may be—is experiencing something deep and intense. He doesn’t ever waste time imagining what his soulmate is like, there’s no point. Len has no plans in pursuing his ‘fate’ like others. He just wants to be a criminal—the most successful criminal this city has ever seen.

 

Len has a long-sleeve thermal shirt underneath his trademark parka. Right now, it’s both a fashion statement and a necessity. Not only is the warehouse he’s currently trudging through _freezing_ cold, he doesn’t like to have his soul mark exposed at a first meeting. He finds it takes away from his dramatic aura and his ability to threaten. People don’t quiver in fear or anticipation when you’ve got bright red words glaring at them from your arm. It’s just too distracting.

His gloved hands are shoved in his pockets as well, with his cold gun holstered against his thigh. He’s heard good things about Mick Rory: proficient, just crazy enough to make things work, a bit of a pyromaniac but that’s hardly a problem. Mick is strong and far from stupid, according to all the rumors floating around the criminal underground. He listens and takes direction well, and that’s exactly what Len is looking for.

He rounds yet another corner and sees the room he needs straight ahead. The door is slightly ajar and soft amber light spills into the darkness of the hall. Fixing his smirk in place, Len makes sure the fur trim of the parka frames his face _just_ right. He shakes out any lingering nerves, not that there are many to start with, and readies himself for a fight.

He pushes open the door and strolls into the room with his arms spread: nonthreatening and open. His smirk widens as the chair a few feet in front of him turns immediately. Mick Rory sits in the chair, posture slouching and arms crossed. He glares and curls his lips in a sneer.

“What the fuck do you want?” He barks.

Len’s blood runs cold.

 

There’s no law stating that soulmates have to choose each other, or even inform each other of the other’s status. It’s more of a societal convention to actually act on it.

Len freezes as all his built up bravado seeps out of him in an instant. His mouth snaps shut with a _click_ , and he thinks carefully. Whatever he says next is probably carved into Mick’s arm. It would be a one in a million chance for Mick to be Len’s soulmate, and for Len to _not_ be Mick’s. It happens, sometimes, but rarely. Len knows he wouldn’t get so lucky. Once his mind stops racing, he finally speaks.

“Oh, such a gentleman.” He taunts.

He catches the moment Mick’s body tenses. A knowing glaze crosses over Mick’s eyes and he stands. He snarls again and stalks toward Len. Len doesn’t back down or move away but something—fear, or perhaps simple adrenaline—spikes through his veins. He lifts his chin defiantly and narrows his glare as Mick moves closer and closer.

When they’re toe to toe, the last thing Len is expecting is to be _kissed_. He gasps, body freezing all over again as his brain practically shuts down. Mick’s hands are hot and calloused where they grip his jaw; in fact, Mick’s whole body radiates an overwhelming amount of heat and it invades Len’s senses far too quickly. Len feels dizzy as he opens his mouth to the kiss and shivers when Mick’s tongue explores every curve of his teeth. Len smacks at Mick’s arm, at his chest, even kicks him in the shin but nothing is deterring the other man.

Mick pulls back only when he’s had his full and when Len is left breathless.

Mick is grinning now, his sour expression from earlier having faded. His hands slink from Len’s jaw down his neck, his shoulders, until the settle on his biceps. They burn in their wake and Len doesn’t know if that’s the soul bond or just _Mick_ in general. “Been looking for you, kid.”

Len scowls. “I have a job. I need your help.” His plan is to ignore the kiss and ignore the way his soul mark is itching on his forearm, and finish what he came here to do in the first place. Len keeps his head tilted up in defiance. “It’s at—!”

Mick shakes his head and pulls Len so close there’s no air between their bodies. “Don’t care about the details, I’ll do it.”

Len shivers again. “Really? I was told you weren’t a total moron.”

Mick’s answering grin is nearly feral and somehow _fond_. How can it be fond? They’ve known each other for all of five minutes! “Well, let’s see.” Mick tilts closer and brushes a kiss to Len’s temple before speaking. “I know you’re Len Snart. Means whatever you’ve got planned is probably planned perfectly and will go off without a hitch. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” Mick kisses the apples of Len’s cheeks next. “And to top it off, you’re m’soulmate.” His words are slurred because he won’t pull his lips from Len’s skin.

Len almost, _almost_ , hates the way tension leaves his body under Mick’s touches. “I never would’ve pegged you as a romantic.” Len raises his arm, though his skin is still covered and he can’t actually see the words at the moment. “Especially not with an opener like that.”

Mick’s laugh is a deep rumble that vibrates Len’s whole body. “Don’t usually get many visitors down here. Definitely wasn’t expecting _you_.”

Len’s chest warms at that. Finally, his hands slip between their bodies to clutch at Mick’s jacket. “Yeah?”

“Wait till everyone hears.” Mick’s voice skirts over Len’s skin as he trails kisses along Len’s jawline. “Two of the most notorious criminals in Central City are _soulmates_.” Mick’s tone is nothing but joyful, and Len finds it a little hilarious. Mick Rory had been described as a forest fire, a tide of lava, an unstoppable force of nature. Len can’t help but take delight in this soft side—both because it’s so contrary to society’s opinion, and because it’s all for Len and him alone.

Len actually smiles finally. He lets his expression shift from one of insistent defiance and instead to something more gentle. “Yeah.” He agrees. “We’re going to rule this city.”

Mick’s hands drop to Len’s waist, one creeping closer to the small of his back. There’s only barely an inch height difference between them, but Mick seems to tower over Len; Len isn’t all that alarmed to find he doesn’t mind. Mick kisses Len again, hard as before but with something different than desperation sparking between them. Instead, it’s slower, less needy, more excited at the prospect of their new future together.

Len returns the kiss this time, seeking out to taste the heat of Mick’s mouth. His hands shift and curl around Mick’s neck to keep the other man still while Len takes what he wants from the kiss. He bites Mick’s lower lip and deepens the kiss the minute Mick’s mouth drops open a little wider. It’s messy and wet and far less controlled than Len is used to. Again, he really doesn’t mind all that much.

When Len opens his eyes again, they’ve taken several steps back toward the chair Mick had previously been sitting in. The back of Len’s neck heats up and for the first time since this started, he feels apprehension prickling under his skin. Mick seems to sense this—and Len again wonders how much of that is the bond and how much of that is just in Mick’s nature—and the next kiss he gives is soft and reassuring.

“Don’t gotta do anything tonight, Lenny.” Mick sits and helps Len into his lap. “Just wanna be close t’you.” He murmurs.

The fear fades again and Len nods. He scrapes his nails along Mick’s head gently and is rewarded with a pleased groan. Len continues his ministration until Mick is practically gasping for breath and the air between them is thick with heat. “Oops,” Len taunts, purposefully sinking down so their clothed cocks brush.

Mick growls and his grip on Len tightens. “Oh you’re a coy one, huh?” He hisses. His hands move to the front of the parka and draw the zipper down. Len shifts to get it off with Mick’s help, and once it’s abandoned to some corner of the room Mick’s hands are immediately groping at the skin beneath Len’s shirt. Len shivers and arches his back into the touch. Mick’s fingertips are red hot but work smoothly to ease the knots of tension that always seem to linger under Len’s skin. “I can’t wait to make you come.”

Len lets himself fall forward, pressing their faces together and rolling hips for friction against Mick’s lap. He initiates the kiss this time and licks hungrily into Mick’s mouth. He doesn’t have a witty quip or retort but Mick understands the unspoken urgency. With one hand still splayed on Len’s back, Mick moves his other hand to the front of their pants. He undoes the button and zipper on Len’s first, teases the man’s cock through the cotton briefs. Len rolls into the touch with a mewl that Mick swallows.

Len barely holds back a moan of loss when Mick’s hand pulls back. He listens to the soft sounds of Mick’s pants coming undone and the slick sounds of both their cocks being freed. Len finally rears back from the kiss when the heat of Mick’s hand grasps both their pricks at once. Len feels overheated and overwhelmed like a teenager during their first time. He knows it must be because of Mick and the bond. Len has been with plenty of people in his lifetime but never has anything felt this easy or intense.

Len fucks into Mick’s fist desperately. He figures he’s stuck with the man for the rest of their lives, there’s no shame in being blatantly hungry for his touch. And, if Mick’s appreciative groans are anything to go by, he’s enjoying the show.

“Roll up your sleeve.” Mick growls directly into Len’s ear.

Len complies without thinking, exposing the red words on his skin to the air. The words are glowing brighter than ever, the red more vibrant and the gold around them shining vividly. He reaches for Mick’s arm that’s curled around his waist—doesn’t know how he _knows_ which arm to grab, he just does—and pushes the sleeve of the jacket back as well.

There, amidst scars and a thick dusting of hair, is Len’s handwriting.  Sharp like Mick’s own but even in a way his isn’t. It’s a deep royal blue and the outline glows like the color of an icy sky. Len admires the contrast—his words, neat and precise, stark against the red flush of Mick’s skin. Seeing the words fills Len with a feeling he can’t identify. It might be pride, or smugness, or perhaps even _love_ like all the fairytales talk about. Whatever the feeling is, it blends seamlessly with the pleasure burning inside Len’s body and heightens his senses.

Len pulls Mick’s arm to his lips and kisses the words softly. “I’m close.” He whispers against the scars.

Mick stiffens and his hips jerk up once—twice—three times before his come is spilling between them. Mick doesn’t stop, though; using his own come to slick the way he jacks Lens cock faster, grip more firm than before. Len rolls his hips into the touch and it doesn’t take long for the weight of an orgasm to come rushing through him. His own come spills into Mick’s hand and mingles with the other man’s cooling release.

Len still has his lips pressed to Mick’s soulmark when the high begins to fade. He grins against the words and turns to look at Mick. Mick is staring at him already, eyes still hungry and lips parted just slightly. Len pushes Mick’s arm to return to his waist then leans in for another kiss. This time it’s chaste, a tease, and Len breaks it after only a moment to speak with a toothy grin.

“I think this is the start of a beautiful partnership.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> graphic at the end made by me, with my measly photoshop skills! fun fact i actually used wentworth's and dominic's skin tones for the graphic itself, just to be thorough :P


End file.
